


Posture

by deskclutter



Category: Princess Tutu
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-26
Updated: 2013-09-26
Packaged: 2017-12-27 16:44:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/981247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deskclutter/pseuds/deskclutter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some learn poise by carrying books on their heads.</p><p>Written for Fakiru Week 2013: Balance</p>
            </blockquote>





	Posture

It had started as a joke.  
  
At one point or another, Fakir had cobbled a library together, which was really just two shelves beside his writing desk, but the they both brought back books all the time -- Ahiru rescuing some books that no one wanted at the library, which was why they had an outdated guide to town sights and a census from ten years back with water damage -- so it was a growing collection that might one day become something that matched the grandiosity of 'library'.  
  
They kept two copies of _The Prince and the Raven_ in the library. The newer edition had been complimentary from the publishers, but the older one had been sold to Fakir by the school library because he had kept it for so long that his late fees covered its price, and it was one of the few copies left of the original story without an ending.  
  
It was, therefore, considerably lighter, and for that reason Ahiru pulled it out of its shelf one day and placed it on her head. Under Fakir's sceptical eye, she paraded across the length of the wooden floor and back again, her chin high and her neck straight, without dropping the book even once. That done, she flicked her eyes up to meet Fakir's, and stuck her tongue out at him in triumph.  
  
Fakir's nettled answer to _that_ was to scoop Ahiru up, _The Prince and the Raven_ still neatly balanced on her head, and he placed her on his _own_ head. "Watch me," he said. Limber and fluid, he went across the creaking floorboards in the same exercise, never missing a step.  
  
Ahiru was herself still adamantly holding position. This was actually pretty hard when you were also fighting the urge to giggle at the silliness of the entire contest. _If you laugh,_ she said sternly to herself, _you'll have to marry Neko-sensei._ The thought was good to lock her neck into place a little longer.  
  
But as they made the final step, Fakir stamping firmly on the floor with his bare foot just to show off, she felt the book begin to slide. "Quack!" she said in alarm.  
  
 _The Prince and the Raven_ tumbled unceremoniously to the ground with a noisy clatter; Fakir, alarmed himself, hastily put up his hand to keep Ahiru from tumbling after it.  
  
"It still counts," Fakir insisted, into the silence that followed. On hearing that, Ahiru didn't bother to hide the laugh that bubbled squeakily out of her.  
  
So when Fakir sat down to properly write that night, the lamp on his desk glowing beautifully on his table, Ahiru hopped up onto his shoulder and laboriously climbed into his hair so Fakir could shake her away if he really needed to. When she was settled, Ahiru leaned forward as far as possible so she could see Fakir's face. "Qua quack, quack," she dared him.  
  
"I accept the challenge," said Fakir, his lip curling. His posture remained ramrod straight for all that night. Ahiru was forced to concede (though only for that night!!).  
  
Thereafter, it sort of became a habit.  
  
At first, whenever Fakir grew so absorbed in his work that he forgot she was nesting on his head and turned to look at a new page, Ahiru would stumble at every shift of his head and eventually give up and flap her way to the table. Once there, Fakir would jealously cover every word he had ever written so she couldn't see, but she was there to keep company with the lamp rather than read his stories anyway.  
  
But as time passed, it became automatic as breathing for Ahire to shuffle her feet minutely when Fakir moved his head; she learnt to do it even when Fakir worked late into the night and when she had fallen asleep.  
  
Their comfortable routine was broken the night one of Fakir's fans barged into the room at night, when the room was bathed in a warm glow and Ahiru was dozing on Fakir's head. He was fond of barging through doors. "Fakir!" Autor said. "Where on earth is the next chapter of Rue's Redemption? Didn't I tell you over and over that we _must_ have it early so we can vet--What's that duck doing on your head!?"  
  
Woken by the way he had crashed through the door, Ahiru turned with Fakir to stare blearily at Autor. "What duck?" Fakir said hazily, still half-lost in a writing fog.  
  
"Quack?" Ahiru agreed. She paused. "Q-quack!"  
  
"Oh, right," said Fakir. "I'd forgotten she was there." Ahiru poked at his head.  
  
"I do not want to know," Autor announced, his eye twitching. "You know what? I'll come again for the chapter tomorrow. You need rest, I think."  
  
"Yeah, probably," said Fakir, gracefully accepting the extension. "Goodbye, Autor. We would appreciate it if you didn't break into our house again." The door crashed shut.  
  
Ahiru fluttered down to plant herself on the desk in front of him. "Qua qua quack!" she scolded. " _Quack_ quack!!"  
  
"Oi, you, you're supposed to sleep in a bed yourself," Fakir retorted. "You could have told me 'it's late' or 'we should be sleeping now' at any time." He got up from his seat and covered the inkpot.  
  
"Quaaaaaaaaaack," Ahiru said, shooting him an exaggeratedly suspicious look before she turned to the lamp and dimmed the light with a click.  
  
The door shut gently behind them.


End file.
